


524 Evers Street

by 6mgs7



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5 minutes, All the words, I'll Edit When I'm Dead, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Matchmaking, New York, Speed Dating, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/6mgs7
Summary: Going to a dating event wasn't exactly the way Mickey wanted to spend his Friday evening, but he owed Mandy a favor and she had called it due. Trying to get him into the spirit of the night, she bet him that she could get more matches than he could before the night was over. Mickey was determined to win - he just wasn't expecting to self sabotage the entire, horrible night for the attention of the Matchmaker himself.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 18
Kudos: 109





	524 Evers Street

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fucking Endgamers Always](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Fucking+Endgamers+Always).



> written c. 2017

Mandy opened the cab door and hopped in the back seat.

“Where ya going?” 

She pulled the tickets from her purse, “Five twenty-four Evers Street. But hold up – there’s one more person. Do me a favor and lay on your horn for a sec.” The driver honked his horn twice. She stuck her head out of the cab and screamed up toward her apartment window, “Mickey! Move your ass! I don’t want to be late!”

Ten seconds later the front door of the building slammed open as her brother came sauntering out and flipped her off. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and tie, with his hair slicked back perfectly. He licked at his lips then took the last puff of his cigarette, tossing it into the gutter before climbing into the cab. Mandy slid over to give him space on the seat, taking him in from head to toe with a satisfied smirk on her face.

“The fuck are you looking at?” He grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He fucking hated wearing suits, but it was all part of the deal he’d made with her.

“You look… nice.” She tried not to smile, but failed, and Mickey flipped her off again. He turned to stare out the window as they drove along, trying to think of some way out of what he was about to do.

“Can’t fucking believe you’re making me do this shit.” He complained for the hundredth time in the last hour. “After this, we’re even. I’m all fuckin’ paid up, got it?”

Mandy giggled and hit his thigh, “Fine, we’re even, bitch. Now stop complaining and try to have some fun.”

“How the fuck is speed dating supposed to be fun? I’m gonna be sitting there talking to a shit load of woman that I have zero fucking interest in, when I could be down at the bar instead, finding someone with a dick.” Mickey caught the cab driver’s look in the mirror, “Mind your own fucking business up there and drive, all right? Don’t you have some little fucking window you can push closed here or something?”

“Shut up,” Mandy reprimanded without heat, “Let’s make it fun then, ok? I mean, it’s not like you have to actually take any of these women home, right? So, let’s make a bet – I’ll bet you that I can get more matches by the end of the night than you can.”

“No fucking way. I’m showing up and that’s it.”

“No way, asshole. That wasn’t part of the deal. You said you would go and _participate_. Come on Mickey! These fucking tickets cost me a fortune. Just step out of your box one damn time.” She argued.

He continued to stare at the buildings going by outside the window, dreading each block that took them closer to the event. Ten years of small favors here and there to pay off a stupid debt. He usually did them without complaining (too much), but this one took the fucking cake. He had agreed one last time, making sure she knew this was the last time. Done! Finished! His debt was paid in full! No more stupid fucking favors.

“How about this - Winner gets…" Mandy knew she had to sweeten the deal a little, and tried to think of something that he couldn't resist, "Winner doesn’t have to cook dinner for the rest of the month.”

Mickey finally turned to look at her, his interest suddenly piqued. He _hated_ cooking. The entire list of foods he could cook without burning consisted of pancakes, pizza rolls, Pop Tarts and Instant Oatmeal, and somehow, he’d even managed to mess those up now and then. Their current arrangement had him on dinner duty three nights a week, Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. Most nights he ordered from one of a dozen restaurants that he kept menus for in the kitchen drawer. Every now and then he declared it to be “Pancake Thursdays,” which somehow Mandy tolerated because he made damn good banana pancakes. In the end, he was spending a fortune on take out each week just so Mandy wouldn’t scream at him for trying to feed her pizza rolls three times a week.

Mandy on the other hand was a phenomenal cook. They had moved from Chicago to New York almost a year earlier so she could attend classes as some fancy, overpriced culinary institute that, for the life of him, Mickey could never remember the name of. When she wasn’t in class she worked odd shifts at an equally fancy Italian restaurant in Manhattan. 

She was in charge of Wednesday night meals and weekends. Friday was ‘fend for yourself’ since neither of them were usually home anyway. On her cook nights, they either ate Italian food she had brought home from the restaurant or she would try out some new dish she was practicing for school. Either way, Mandy’s dinner nights were always the best nights of the week.

“AND…” Mandy suddenly added, realizing she might be getting the short end of this deal, “If you lose, you have to actually COOK food. I’ll even help you.”

Mickey’s head fell back against the seat in defeat. Win and eat like a king for the next three weeks. Lose and he’d have to finally give in to Mandy bossing him around in the kitchen, which she’d been begging to do for months. She already bossed him around every day - not that he ever paid any attention to her bitching and moaning - but he just wasn't willing to encourage it more than necessary.

“No! No fucking bet! I don’t like those terms.” He shook his head and waved her off.

“Oh come on, Mickey! Is it because you know I’ll win? That’s it isn’t it? You got no game, and I’m hotter than you, so you know I’ll get more matches than you. You’re such a fucking chicken!”

Mickey Milkovich was a very gay man on his way to a speed dating event for very straight people because he owed his sister a very BIG favor and she had called in the debt. That part he had no say over. He was also a bad fucking cook. He could agree with that. He might, in fact, be the only gay man in a fucking neighborhood called _Queens_ who couldn’t cook a single decent meal… but like hell he was going to let her get away with calling him a _fucking chicken!_

She knew the second she said it that she had hooked him. He raised his eyebrows, turning his head slowly and dramatically to her, giving her his _Fuck You_ glare. He held his hand out to shake on it. 

“I’ll fucking match your ass under the table, bitch. Then, I’m giving you a damn menu of what I want for dinner for the rest of the month, and you better believe it’s not gonna be the same damn pasta you bring from the restaurant every week.”

Mandy held her hand out to shake his. He squeezed hers just a bit too hard as he shook, “Ouch! Motherfucker! Watch my rings, asshole!”

“Oh, it’s on. You’re going down, bitch… I’m gonna have those women fucking falling at my feet tonight, you just wait and see.” Like hell Mickey Milkovich was gonna let his little sister beat him at picking up chicks - or in her case, guys. He might be a gay motherfucker, but women fucking loved his ass.

***

  
Shelby checked the time on her phone once more before searching the room again. The wait staff was in the kitchen, prepping the hors d'oeuvre trays. The bartenders were in place, wiping down the last few glasses and getting ready for the rush of people who would soon be coming in. She looked at her phone once more as if it would magically ring with an update from the DJ who was stuck in traffic, still five miles out. It didn’t ring. The doors were opening in less than 10 minutes and she was nearing panic mode.

“Ian, what the hell was he thinking, taking a cab at this time on a Friday night?” She worried. 

Ian was busy picking little pink and purple heart confetti glitter from his jacket, completely oblivious to what she had been saying for the past five minutes. Perhaps she had been right when she told him glitter was a bad idea, he thought. Duly noted.

“IAN! Have you heard a single word I've said?!” She cried out, finally getting his attention.

He lifted his head, startled by the angry tone of her voice, “Huh? What? That’s a weird way to start a conversation.”

“I didn’t just start the conversation, dumb ass. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes. Jesus, Ian – where is your head tonight? I need you in the game. This place is about to be filled with a hundred people, and _we don’t have a DJ!_ ” 

Shelby went to look out the long windows at the crowd gathering down below on the sidewalk. The line wrapped around the side of the building, each of them waiting for the doors to open to one of the hottest singles events of the year. It was the night of the _5 th Annual Five Minutes To Forever_ event being held by Match Masters, which had a reputation for finding their client's perfect match 80% of the time. 

It was all part of their February promotion, just in time for Valentine’s Day. Tickets to this event sold out months in advance every year, and it was covered by several society writers who would have write ups in most of the local papers and blogs by morning. The event was known for drawing in some of the hottest up and coming singles in the city. Ian and Shelby had worked years to get their business off the ground, and it was finally running like a well-oiled machine. The night had to be perfect.

Ian walked over to the makeshift stage where the DJ had set up his equipment earlier that morning before heading out for an appointment. Turning on the computer, he noticed that the playlists they had chosen for the event were already in queue and ready to go. Ian pressed a few buttons and seconds later music began to stream through the speakers around the room.

“There. Problem solved.” He said, holding his arms up triumphantly and winking at Shelby.

“Oh my god! How did you do that?” She ran over to hug him.

“I was here when he was getting set up earlier. We were going over the playlist. I guess we got lucky because it was all still right here on the screen ready to go. So… let’s get the doors opened.” 

He turned the speaker volume up just a bit, then walked with Shelby to open the front doors and greet their guests.

Shelby took one more look around the room at the wait staff and event crew all in their places, then clapped her hands together and exclaimed, “Ok! Let’s make some magic happen, people!”

Within fifteen minutes the room was flooded with successful, well-dressed, and good looking singles, ages 25 to 35 – all carefully screened, readily employed, felony free, and eager to meet the loves of their life. The irony of being a matchmaker who hadn’t yet met his own match was not lost on Ian as he watched his guests stop at the registration desk for their name tags. They were laughing with the friends they’d come in with, or looking nervously around the room if they were on their own, but all had eyes full of hope and excitement that tonight they would be one of the 80% success stories he’d write about on the company website in a month or two.

There were exactly 80 men and 80 women invited to the event, every one of them fashionably dressed like a young hipster professional might dress when they’re trying to impress on a first date. The room began to reek of a hundred different perfumes and colognes as they filled the space, making the headache Ian had been fighting most of the day grow stronger. He went to crack the door open that led out to the balcony. He was cordial to every woman he passed along the way and gave them his warmest host smile that was permanently affixed to his face during every event.

_Sorry ladies… you’re just not my type._

It would be a lie if Ian said he didn’t like the attention. Truth was, he never got tired of the women fawning over him, but just once, he wished it was from someone more… masculine. That never seemed to be the case though. While their company served the LGTBQ community, Ian made it a business rule to never fraternize with his clients. His work schedule left little time to have any kind of social life for himself, so aside from the occasional parties Match Masters hosted, he spent most of his free time just trying to unwind and catch up on sleep.

He cracked the door a few inches, standing with his eyes closed for a few minutes to let the fresh, cold air calm his nerves and sooth his pounding head. In the past five years he counted over 200 of these events under his belt, but for some reason he’d been on edge all week anticipating this one. He had even tried to come up with an excuse to get out of working it, but Shelby wasn’t having it. She argued that it was their most important event of the year, so unless he was heaving up his lunch on their clients, he was going to be there.

“Hey, is it ok if I smoke out there?” Ian was pulled from his reverie by a man trying to find a way around him to the balcony. The man stood about five inches shorter, but by the look on his face and the way he held himself, one might have thought he was seven feet tall. He drew his eyebrows high up on his forehead in an impatient query, but Ian continued to stand there staring at him, but not moving. His nearly black hair was in stark contrast to his milky white complexion, and his deep blue eyes were a perfect match to the suit he had on. 

“Yo, buddy. Did you hear me? You deaf or something? I need to get by.” He griped.

“Shit… I mean, _shoot!_ Shoot. I’m sorry… uh, yes, you can smoke out there. Long day, sorry.” Ian apologized again, but he didn’t move to let the man go by.

Mickey stood there waiting, tilting his head and growing more impatient with the dumb red head still blocking his way. Normally he’d call someone a fucking idiot and push them out of the way, but this guy…

This guy was something else. He was something pretty fucking great to look at, and to be quite honest, Mickey wasn’t as irritated as he normally might be by someone else. This yuy had bright fucking fiery red hair like nothing Mickey had seen before - at least nothing he'd ever been attracted to before - and he had freckles and these weepy, sappy green eyes that were just staring right through Mickey like he was candy.

Mickey bit at his bottom lip, letting his tongue run across it before releasing it again, “So…”

“So…” Ian replied. A warm rush of blood crawled up the back of his neck and a crooked smile washing across his face. He was clearly entranced, drinking the dark-haired beauty in…

“So, you gonna get out of the fucking way so I can go by, or what?” Mickey asked. He’d had enough of _This Guy_ , and just wanted to go smoke a fucking cigarette already. Besides, there was no point wasting valuable time flirting with straight dudes anyway.

“Oh, uh… Sorry. Yeah, yeah… Let me move. I’m sorry.” Ian stumbled over his words, moving to the side a bit so he could push the door open a little for Mickey to walk through. His hand slipped, just as Mickey passed by, letting go of the door so that it hit Mickey square in the head. 

“Jesus, fuck!” Mickey shook his head and rubbed where the heavy door had hit him.

“Shit! Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Are you ok!?' Ian reached out to touch the Mickey’s head, putting his fingers into the dark black hair, but Mickey immediately slapped his away; Ian caught a glance of the word F-U-C-K clearly tattooed across his knuckles. The tattoos were in complete contrast to the rest of the Mickey's appearance and attire, but seemingly befitting of his personality, nonetheless.

“Get the fuck off of me!” Mickey bitched as he shoved the door open himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you – you some kind of idiot or something?” He ran his fingers through his hair to fix what Ian had messed up.

Ian stepped back, holding his hands up and giving him plenty of space to move outside. “I-I… uhm... I’m really so sorry.” He said again quietly as the door closed in his face. 

He watched the Mickey walk to the far end of the balcony and light up a smoke, still rubbing the spot on his head where the door had hit him. Ian was hypnotized by the way he tipped his head back in the cold night air as he exhaled – the smoke dancing around his face before disappearing into the night like magic. He couldn’t see much more than a profile, and the pale skin which was almost luminescent in the dim lighting, but what he saw was just… _perfect_.

“Daaayum.” Ian whispered.

He took one last look then shook the thought of the mystery man out of his head. He might be hotter than hell, but Ian was obviously not his type - that whole 'gender' factor and all -but he envied the lucky women who might match up with that man tonight.

The DJ finally arrived, making his way into the crowded room, catching Ian’s eye and waving him over toward the stage. Ian set off to follow him. 

“Man, I’m so sorry I’m late! I should have taken the subway, but live an’ learn, amirite?” The DJ said as he double checked the settings on his system to make sure everything was still in order.

“Yeah, fortunately everything was already set up, so it worked out. Just be sure…” Ian’s statement was interrupted by a brunette woman walking past, bickering loud enough for him to hear over the music.

“That asshole better not have left already. I’ll fucking kill him.” She was looking around the room, not paying attention to where she was walking, and bumped right into Ian’s back, nearly knocking them both over.

“Oh shit! Are you ok?” She said, grabbing his waist as they both got their footing again. “Sorry ‘bout that. I was looking for someone and didn’t see you.”

He laughed, “I seem to be the one standing in the wrong place all night long. Maybe I need to go sit at the bar a minute and just relax.” He held his hand out to properly introduce himself. “I’m Ian. And you are…” he glanced quickly at the name tag strategically pinned to her low cut dress, “Mandy M. It’s nice to meet you Mandy M.”

Mandy gave him a sexy smile, biting her lip a little as she shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ian. So, do you come to a lot of these things or is this your first time?”

Ian laughed, “Oh god, I hope that’s not the pick up line you’re planning on using tonight! Yes, actually I come to a lot of these things. I’m actually the owner of Match Masters. This is my event.” 

Disappointment fell over her face as he pulled his hand back from hers. “Well, that’s just my damn luck. Are you at least single?” She asked, winking at him. “It could still work out for us, you know.”

Mandy reached forward and pretended to straighten the lapel of his jacket as she waited on his answer. He was dressed in a daring brick red suit with a baby blue tie – not a combination she would have ever expected to work as well as it did, but she had to admit, he looked pretty fucking hot!

“Actually, I am single, but I’m sorry to say I make it a hard rule not to get involved with clients. Ethical practices and all.” He smiled apologetically at her as she tapped her hand on his chest and sighed.

“Yeah, ok, I can take a hint. Any pointers on a better pick up line I can use tonight? I have a bet going with my brother that I can get more matches than he can. If you help a girl out, I’ll buy you dinner at Dell'Anima, no strings attached.”

“What? Dell'Anima? They have a wait list like five months long! Are you serious?” He asked.

“Sure, any time. Just make sure I win and I’ll give you my number so you can come by. I’ll make you my special dish.” She added with another wink and a smile.

“Well, first, I’d say never ever use that ‘do you come here often’ line again. Ever.” He suggested.

“Yeah, ok, I got it, smart ass. What else you got?” She asked.

He eyed her up and down. She was dressed in a silk blue dress that complimented her eyes and fit just right. It hugged her very well put together body, and dropped dangerously low at the bust line. Her long black hair was curled just a bit at the tips, and she wore fashionably strappy black heels that made her at least three inches taller than she normally stood. 

“You like what you see?” She flirted, doing a little spin so he could get a better look.

“I was just thinking that you shouldn’t have any troubles at all stirring up some interest tonight. You’re quite… lovely.”

Mandy raised her brows at him. Her deep blue eyes twinkled along with the laughter that came from her ruby red lips. “ _Lovely_. I don’t think I’ve ever been called lovely before.”

“That’s a shame. I would think men would be falling all over you to tell you how lovely you are. My guess is you’ll have no problem tonight at all beating your brother. I don’t know what he looks like, but you are hands down the winner here tonight.”

Mandy giggled like a school girl, feeling both giddy and ridiculous all at the same time. “Shit. I don’t think I can handle any more of this gushy bullshit. You wanna at least get a drink, Matchmaker?” She asked, pointing across the room at the bar.

Ian was about to excuse himself from the drink when he noticed the man in the blue suit with the F-U-C-K tattoos, standing alone in the same direction. He had his phone in one hand and a drink in the other. Unlike any of the other guests, who all seemed to be enjoying mingling and meeting other singles, this guy was in a world of his own, ignoring everyone around him.

“Sure. I can use a drink.” Ian said. He held his hand forward in a _lead the way_ gesture. “So, which one’s your brother?” Ian asked, “Maybe if I meet him, I can suggest some really _bad_ pick-up lines for him to use tonight and up your odds.”

“That’s the can-do spirit I’m looking for!” Mandy said, “That’s him. Near the back wall.” 

Ian followed her hand to the large crowd of people talking in pairs or groups all around and tried to hone in on which man she was pointing at. Surely he had to be someone as spunky and outgoing as she was.

“The khaki’s and blazer guy, or the awful green sweater guy? Please tell me the green sweater guy isn't your brother. If he is, shame on you for letting him wear that tonight.” He said.

“No, the guy in the blue suit. The anti-social idiot leaning against the wall, with his phone stuck to his face. This is gonna be easier than I thought. He’s not even trying to talk to anyone.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, even though she had expected nothing less than this lack of effort on Mickey’s part.

“THAT’s your brother?” Ian stopped walking and took them both in again. He glanced at Mickey, then back at Mandy. They both had the same milky white complexion, deep blue eyes, and black hair. Of course, it was her brother. They even had the same quirky ticks, like the way they raised their eyebrows when they were amusement (or in her brother's case, annoyed), or the way they bit their lips, and definitely the way that they talked.

Mandy pulled Ian’s arm to get him moving again, “Yes. Now go over there and talk to him, and help me win this bet tonight. If I win, you win, remember?” 

Mickey hadn’t looked up from his phone once, but as Ian and Mandy neared the bar, she called out to get his attention.

“Jesus Christ, Mickey! It’s a fucking cocktail hour. You’re supposed to be mingling and talking to people.” 

She was still pulling on Ian’s arm as he followed along a bit more reluctantly, now that the man he’d been a fumbling mess around fifteen minutes earlier was standing in front of him again. Ian glanced at Mickey’s hands, wanting to see the tattooed knuckles he found strangely intriguing again. This time he noticed both hands were tatted. The words 'F-U-C-K U - U-P” were written across his fingers. Ian chuckled a bit at the irony of it all.

“Mickey... Mickey, put your damn phone away and pay attention. This is Ian – he owns Match Masters. He was just giving me some advice on getting matched up tonight.” She knew she had to make Mickey believe she had the upper hand if she wanted him to pay attention to Ian beyond a grumbled ‘hello.’

Mickey didn’t bother to look up at either of them. “So you’re fucking cheating now?” He asked. Mandy smiled - it was just like fish in a bucket with Mickey, and she always knew just how to bait him. 

“No, I’m not fucking cheating. I was just asking for some advice. Anyway, I’m gonna get a drink.” 

Without a single glance back, she walked off, leaving the two of them standing there alone so Ian could work his magic. Ian stared after her, growing uncharacteristically anxious at having been left alone in the company of her brother, who clearly did not want his company. Before Mandy had even ordered her drink, there were two men trying to make conversation with her, and Ian knew she wouldn’t be coming back to save him any time soon.

Mickey noticed the expensive dark brown dress shoes were still standing in front of him just beyond the view of his phone screen.

“She’s like a fucking wind up toy with no attention span. I hope you weren’t waiting for her to come back, man. She’s gone.” Mickey said. He looked up, and for a second was taken by surprise to see the red headed doorman from earlier standing in front of him. If Ian was looking for any sign that Mickey recognized him, he was disappointed. Mickey gave no sign of remembering him at all.

Ian shuffled nervously in place. “She’s… uh... different.” Ian said with a nervous chuckle. He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, telling himself to get a fucking grip and stop acting like an idiot. “So…”

Ian felt like such a tool. He was completely lost for words and apparently had lost all control over his large motor skills to escape this situation, as he legs stayed solidly glued to the floor. Mickey went back to looking at his phone and ignoring him, but Ian didn't leave.

'So...' Mickey finally replied. “We had this exact conversation a little while ago, Firecrotch. You got anything more to add to it, or are you tapped out at ‘ _So?_ ’”

“Wait, did you just… what did you just call me?” Ian asked.

“Huh? What? What did I call you?” Mickey was completely ignorant of the nickname he’d just given Ian. “I didn’t call you anything.”

“Yeah… You just … I think you just called me _Firecrotch_.” Ian said. His face was a mixture of utter shock and a bit of humor at what he’d thought he had just heard.

“No, I fucking did not…” Mickey said, looking up at him. Even he couldn’t believe he had just let that internal thought slip from his lips.

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure you did.” Ian insisted, nodding his head.

Mickey hadn’t heard the word come out of his mouth, but knowing his affinity for giving terribly rude nicknames to everyone, he figured he was probably guilty of it. He looked up at Ian’s bright red hair, smiled amusingly, then let his eyes wander south below Ian’s belt, and chuckled. 

“Well, I’m gonna take a wild fucking guess and say the carpet probably matches the drapes.” His brows did a dance on his forehead as he brought his drink to his mouth in an attempt to hide the comical smile now on his face.

Ian was stunned, but immediately responded in a low flirty tone. “What makes you think there’s carpeting?” 

_Holy shit_ , he thought to himself! Did he just say that!? He covered his face with both hands, then waved them in front of himself as if to desperately erase the last words that he’d spoken from the air between them.

“Shit! Oh my god! I'm so Sorry. I don’t know why I just said that! I’m … fuck… I’m sorry… I’m just gonna just go. God, please forgive me. Forget I said anything… I’m leaving now.” He spun around and walked away, mortified at the what he’d just said to a client! 

A _CLIENT!_ If word got out that the owner of Match Masters was some creepy ass dude who said things like that to paying customers, Shelby would have his balls, and possibly even his job. Equal partner or not, she didn’t fuck around when it came to business.

Mickey watched Ian practically run away. He was nearly as shocked as Ian had been just seconds before by that entire exchange. Ian ran his hands nervously through his red hair then down the back of his head, holding on at the nape of his neck as he retreated, making Mickey finally laugh out loud. Straight guys were so fucking easily flustered. One little crotch joke usually sent them all running away, just like this one. But it sure was nice to watch him leave.

Mickey pulled his phone out of his pocket again and began scrolling through the list of suggested speed dating questions he had been browsing when Ian and Mandy had interrupted him. He realized that he had been so busy trying to pick out some questions to ask the women, that he hadn’t even considered the fact that he would have to answer some of the questions himself. His heart beat a little faster as panic rose up inside of him at the thought of having to talk about himself, even if it was just for five minute stretches at a time. The expensive dark brown shoes reappeared just beyond his phone screen, stopping right in front of him once again.

The words began spilling out of Ian’s mouth at high speed, “Ok, I’m back. I probably shouldn’t be, but … I am. And I am… just… oh my god, I'm completely _mortified_ at what I said to…”

“ _Mortified?_ ” Mickey interrupted. “Is that actually a word you use regularly, because that sounded fucking gay, dude. ‘Mortified.’ Why the fuck can’t you just say “I’m a fucking idiot for saying that shit?” Or maybe try “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” again… you seem to have that apology shit down. You must have to do it a lot.” 

Hot or not, Mickey was tired of entertaining the bumbling mess in front of him, no matter how much he enjoyed looking at Ian. Straight was straight, and this dude was straight… and stupid. Mickey wasn’t looking to waste anymore time on him when a month’s worth of dinners was on the line and he still had no idea how to answer any of the suggested speed dating questions for himself.

He waved his hand dismissively at Ian who was still standing there, now speechless. “We’re done here. You can go, I’m not gonna tell anyone anything about what you said. Don’t worry.”

Ian didn’t move. Instead, he squared his shoulders off ready to go toe to toe with Mickey. He wasn’t about to just shake off every insult Mickey threw at him anymore. Ian’s lips tightened into a straight line and his jaw seemed to jut forward stubbornly, giving Mickey the urge to bust out laughing. 

“You’re an asshole.” Ian said, unapologetically. “I was trying to apologize, but you’re just … an _asshole_. I have no doubt your sister is going to win that bet against you tonight, because you’re… you’re…”

“An asshole. Yeah, I heard you the fuckin’ first two times you said it, Raggedy Ann. And how the fuck do you know about the bet I made with Mandy? Don’t fuckin’ worry about me – I can handle a few horny ass women, fuck you very much. Don’t think for a minute that just because I’d rather stand here and enjoy a little fucking peace and quiet in the middle of all of this bullshit that I can’t pick up a chick.” 

Mickey looked around the room at the people laughing and talking all around – all of them trying to find that special someone to fall in love with. Well fuck that! Mickey Milkovich didn’t do “love.” At best he remembered to catch a guy’s name after they hooked up in a the bathroom of some bar or in the alley if need be. He didn’t belong there and he knew it. The only reason he was there at all was because he owed Mandy a favor – a Big Fucking Favor – and this was the payback. 

“This is the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever been to in my life.” He added angrily as he pushed off the wall and began to walk away.

“It’s not fucking dumb.” Ian defended. He went after Mickey, jumping in front of him to keep him from escaping. Mickey’s hand formed a fist as Ian came closer and continued to talk. 

“ _This_ is my _fucking_ job… my _fucking_ business… and I’m _fucking_ good at it. I work damn hard to make sure people like you and your sister can come out and have a good time, in a safe environment – maybe meet someone special, you know? Isn’t that what you’re here for tonight?” He was seething and wanted to wipe that smug look off Mickey’s face.

Ian pointed out into the crowded room and continued before Mickey could respond, “Some of these people here tonight will end up married within a year, because I did my _fucking job_ well. Some will find a lifelong friend and tell me about their story in ten years, and how they are raising their kids together. This isn’t fucking dumb, _fuck you very much_. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t act like such a fucking asshole about it. I was _trying_ to be _nice_!”

Neither man moved. Their eyes were fixed in an angry glare at one another as they stood there, facing off - Ian’s jaw clenching in anger and Mickey’s fist clenching at his sides. Mickey would have already laid this guy flat on his ass if they were any other place, but he was doing his best to keep his cool, for his sister's sake.

“Hey, boys!” Mandy called out as she walked up, all smiles and bubbles with some new blonde guy in tow. 

“Greg, this is Ian – apparently, he's our host for the evening. And that’s my brother Mickey. Greg and I go to the same culinary schoo…” She stopped short.

“What the fuck is going on here?” She asked, glancing back and forth between the two men, her eyes finally landing square on Mickey as she gave him a warning glare. “Jesus Christ, what’s with the fucking tension between you two?” 

Ian backed down first, taking a deep breath before he spoke. “No tension. We were … Just talking.” He offered his hand to Mickey to shake, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mickey. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

Mickey gave a huff and shook his head a little in disbelief, then swiped his thumb against his bottom lip as he was apt to do when he was pissed off. He purposely ignored Ian’s offered hand. 

“Fuck off.” He mumbled as he walked away.

Ian dropped his hand, relieved to finally be done with that conversation. “Ok, that went well.” He said to no one in particular.

“I see you and my brother got to know each other.” Mandy said. “Don’t take it personally. He’s an asshole. I probably should have warned you about that before I just left you with him.”

Ian nodded. He definitely got that. He finally turned to face Mandy and her friend, “It’s a pleasure to meet you Greg. Mandy, if you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back to work. Please enjoy your evening. Good luck tonight.”

Ian made his way through the room, stopping to speak to a few individuals wandering around on their own, then taking the time to move them in the direction of other single souls in the room. His smile never waned, but underneath he was still pretty damn furious. 

How fucking dare some asshole come into _his_ domain and insult his business and his livelihood like it meant nothing. Ian knew what he did for a living was important and it changed lives. He could see the evidence all around him as men and women let their guards down just a little so that love could find its way into their world. _HE_ did that – _Ian Fucking Gallagher_ , bad ass Matchmaker with an 80% success rating! And he wasn’t about to let some hot… uh, hot _headed_ … asshole come in and make him believe otherwise… no matter how damn great he was to look at. Fuck him!

He finally made his way through the room and back to the far end of the bar. He walked around the back to pour himself a strong drink.

“You doing ok there, boss? You look a little upset.” Mark, the bartender, had noticed Ian was missing the casual smile that usually stayed painted across his face, even when he was under pressure.

Ian poured a shot of whiskey and took it back in one gulp. “Yeah, great.” He stated flatly.

He took a deep breath in to calm his nerves as he tapped his fingers impatiently on the wood bar in front of him. He was a goddamn professional and it was time to behave like one. His eyes searched the room aimlessly, taking in everything and yet not really seeing anything at all. He reminded himself to breathe again… and breathe he did. He was just beginning to calm down when his eyes fell on that damn blue suited devil again. Mickey was sitting alone, with his legs propped up on a table at the opposite end of the room.

“Fucking hell.” Ian mumbled as the heat bubbled up inside of him again.

“What was that?” Mark asked.

“Nothing." Ian would be damned before he'd let Mickey get the best of him. He was going to be the bigger man here, and have the last word, on his terms. 'Pour me a couple beers, would you please?” 

He grabbed another shot glass, placing the bottle of whiskey, the beers, and the shot glasses on a tray, then headed in Mickey’s direction, counting his steps as he went. He knew it was ridiculous, but it was a habit he'd taught himself that forced his mind to stay occupied so he wouldn’t chicken out and turn around again – 18, 19, 20… A pretty blonde woman tried to get his attention, but he smiled and waved her off without stopping to talk … 24, 25, 26… by the time he was just a few steps from Mickey’s table, something unexpected stopped him and stole his breath away.

“Aaahhahahahaaa!” Mickey was at the table watching something on his phone, a genuine, happy smile lighting up his face. He was completely relaxed in his solitude, his eyes bright and lively, and the most beautiful laughter falling from his mouth. “Haaaa! So fucking cute!”

Ian stood a second longer, just watching him, then remembered what he had come for. He cleared his throat loudly so he could be heard over the noise of the crowd behind him. Mickey failed to acknowledge him, so Ian tried again, “Eheemmmm,”

Mickey tapped the screen on his phone, the smile still on his lips, then more laughter. Ian took three more steps, until he was standing right in front of him. Mickey rolled his eyes up, without actually lifting his head or setting his phone down, giving Ian the clear indication that he wasn’t interested in talking any more.

“Did you forget something?” His eyes moved back to his screen and the smile on his face reappeared, but there was no laughter this time.

“I brought a peace offering.” Ian set the tray on the table, carefully pushing Mickey’s crossed feet over just a bit to make room. 

Mickey set the phone on his lap. He looked at the tray of drinks, then up at Ian, contemplating his next move. Aside from the frustration of having to come to this event at all tonight, Mickey really didn’t _hate_ the guy. He just made for a really great target with that red fucking hair. Ian sure as hell wasn't hard on the eyes, and under different circumstances, Mickey might even make a move on him. It never surprised him any more how many straight guys just wanted to experiment a little. Maybe they could drink and forget all the other shit for five minutes.

“A’ight, fuck it. Let’s drink.” Dropping his feet to the floor, he leaned in and poured two shots from the bottle of whiskey, waiting for Ian to take a seat. “You staying? Sit your ass down.”

The tension weighed down on them like mud. Neither of them spoke or drank for a beat, until finally Ian raised his glass and offered up, “Fresh start.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Mickey took the whole shot, biting his teeth down as the liquor bit at his throat. Ian took a sip, his eyes on Mickey. Mickey slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked around the room, avoiding Ian’s persistent gaze. He set his shot glass down and slid it across the table to Ian, “You brought the whole damn bottle…so let’s drink.”

Ian poured another shot. He was still nursing his first shot when Mickey took the next drink in hand. “Catch up. You fuckin’ invited yourself over here, so …”

Ian threw the shot back and quickly poured another as he bit his jaw down tight.

“I, uh… wanted to say that I’m sor…”

Mickey interrupted, “If you fucking start with that ‘sorry’ bullshit again, I swear to god I’ll throat punch you and leave with this bottle, you hear me?” He tossed the shot down his throat in one gulp.

“I – ok. I’m sorry, I won’t say… Shit, I said it. Sorry. _God damn it!_ ” He took his shot. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I was just trying to apolo…”

“Fuck! Just shut the fuck up already! I know... you said it. Apology fucking accepted. It’s over – Jesus Christ, you’re worse than a chick!” Mickey tapped his “K” finger on the shot glass, then bit his bottom lip as he watched Ian and waited to see if he was going to leave.

“Ok, got it. Shutting up.” Ian said. He didn't leave.

Mickey reached across and poured each of them another shot. He really couldn't make heads or tails out of Ian - one minute he was the most fucking annoying person around, then the next, all those little things he did seemed to just make Mickey want him to stick around even more. He found it unusually entertaining and fun to fuck with him, and was enjoying how flustered Ian got just trying to hold a conversation.

“What were you laughing at?” Ian asked, hoping to end the silence sitting between them. He pointed at Mickey's pocket where he'd tucked his phone away. Mickey looked down at his crotch, wondering what the hell Ian was talking about.

“Huh? What the fuck are you looking at?” He asked, giving Ian a suspicious glance.

“On your phone, I meant. When I walked up you were watching something and laughing.” Ian quickly clarified.

“I wasn’t laughing at anything?” He subconsciously reached into his pocket to tuck his phone in further.

“Were you reading something?” 

Mickey took the shot of whiskey. His blood was definitely feeling a bit warmer than it had been just moments earlier, and he seemed to be warming up to the company of the lanky red head as well. He wasn’t nearly as annoying as he had been when they first met.

“Cats.” He finally answered. An amused grin lit up his face, his eyes crinkling into small slits with laugh lines all around. Ian lit up as well. Mickey drank in the genuine smile Ian was finally giving him after all the earlier strife between them... Ian was quite stunning to look at. Who would have thought Mickey could be into red heads.

“Seriously? Wait... You know what, never mind. I’m sorry for asking, it’s none of my business. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I was just trying to make conversation.” 

“I told you not to fucking apologize anymore. And I was being serious. I was watching cat videos on YouTube.” He wiggled his brows teasingly, and laughed.

“I don’t know if you’re messing with me or not.” Ian replied.

“Guess you’ll never know, will you?” He reached out for one of the glasses of beer and took a drink. “How much do I owe you for the drinks?”

“No, nothing! My pleasure, really.” Ian stuttered out, hoping that wasn’t Mickey’s way of telling him their conversation was over. He wasn’t sure if it was the drink or that beautiful fucking smile that had softened his opinion, but suddenly Mickey was no longer the worse company in the room. He was, actually, the only company Ian wanted to keep at the moment.

“Your pleasure, huh?” Mickey grazed his eyes down Ian’s body, licking a drop of beer from the corner of his lips as he did. For a second, it took Ian’s breath away.

“Your pleasure.” Mickey repeated to himself a bit more quietly. “What else gives you pleasure, Firecrotch? You seem to say that a lot. Is it just one of those canned responses you have to give to everyone because they’re paying you, or…” Mickey sipped his beer, his eyes like magnets on Ian’s, “…do you actually get pleasure out of every fucking thing you do?” 

The look of pure astonishment that crossed Ian’s face at that second made Mickey break into a great big toothy grin all over again. Mickey was making no secret about the way he was undressing Ian with his eyes, leaving Ian unnerved. Ian adjusted himself in his seat, unconsciously reaching his hand back to wipe at his neck as if the heat in the room had suddenly been turned up. He was used to having the upper hand with the women who flirted with him, and he was pretty damn good at handling himself with men too, but Mickey... Mickey was stripping away his defenses almost as easily as he seemed to be stripping away his clothes with just a simple look. Ian had completely lost purchase.

“Uh… I uhm…” He took a drink of his own beer, his eyes dancing around, taking care not to land on Mickey, in case his body continue to betray him as it was trying to do. “I uhm…”

“What was that, Mumbles?” Mickey asked, that teasing grin never leaving his face. He tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows at Ian as if waiting on an answer. 

Ian knew at that very moment that if he ever met a gay man like Mickey who looked at him the way Mickey was right now, and flustered him the way Mickey had been doing all evening, he would spend every waking minute of the day worshiping and ravishing that man! He’d completely lost his train of thought and forgotten what Mickey's original question even was. Wow, this guy! This... _Client..._

This _very straight client_ , at this very straight event, who was just fucking with him right now. Ian shook his head a little and forced himself to remember Mickey was one of his clients. He willed his mind to slip into work mode and go on auto pilot.

“Do you need any help with the questions you plan on asking during the round robin tonight?” Whew! That was close. He adjusted himself in his seat once more, tugging at the legs of his pants, and waited for Mickey’s answer.

“No.” Mickey said flatly. The smile fell from his face when he realized there wasn’t going to even be any innocent flirting with this dude. “I mean, well… No and yes. I didn’t exactly _plan_ any questions. Was I supposed to do that?”

“Oh my god, yes! Didn’t you get the flyers we sent out when you bought the tickets? It had tons of suggested questions and conversation starters, and a few other tips for making this whole thing successful for you! You didn’t read it?” Ian asked earnestly, suddenly in full work mode and worried about Mickey’s success. 

“I didn’t buy these tickets. My sister’s co-worker got them for the two of them. Then he fucking met some chick at a club and she got pissed when she found out he was still planning to come here. He gave his ticket to Mandy, and...” He held his hands in the air as if to indicate he was the end result of the co-worker’s fuck-up.

“Wait, so … you’re not “Michael?” We screened our guests – checked employment and references - all that shit. Are you saying you’re not Michael, because your name tag says you are.” Ian was all business now, worried that if Mickey was able to breech his perfect screening system, then who knew how many other people were there that didn’t belong.

“Uh, no. No, I’m … Well, sort of I’m Michael, but not really.”

“I just assumed Mickey was a nickname for Michael. Is Mickey even your real name?” Ian asked.

“Jesus, settle down, Firecrotch! It’s not like I’m trying to fucking sabotage your event. I didn’t even want to fucking come, but Mandy made me.”

Ian sat back and ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the back of it in frustration. “All right then… what _is_ your name?”

“Mickey. Well, actually, Mikhailo. Milkovich. It's Ukrainian for Michael, so see, basically the same guy.”

“That is definitely not basically the same! Do you even have a job?” Ian pressed.

“Of course, I have a fucking job. I’m not some street urchin. Give me that fucking bottle.” 

Ian handed him the whiskey and slid his own shot glass to be filled. They both watched each other as they tossed the drinks down their throats. Mickey was waiting to see if he could be saved from this wretched night, possibly by Ian tossing him out the door for fraud. Ian wondered if he should throw Mickey out, but realized they would be a chair short if he did.

Mickey knew he should have kept his mouth shut, so he finally conceded, “Ok, stop freaking out. It's not really that big o' deal. I’ll give you 5 questions, and if you piss me off, I’m taking that bottle and catching a cab, understand?” Mickey said. 

It was hardly a negotiation – after all, this was Ian’s event. He had every right to ask Mickey five questions, and more if he wanted to, but somehow, Mickey was the one running the show right then. Ian nodded his agreement.

“What kind of job do you have and what is your annual income?” Ian asked.

“Hey, that’s kind of fucking personal, don’t you think?”

“No, actually, it’s a required question on our application. If you had filled it out, you would know that. Ball park your income if you want to.” 

“I restore and renovate historical properties, and I make enough fucking money to be here, so don’t worry about it.” Mickey gave him a challenging glare, but Ian seemed satisfied enough with his answer.

“Ok. Mandy mentioned a bet you have with her. If you didn’t want to be here, then why are you?” He asked.

Mickey considered this for a moment. He wasn’t sure how much of the truth Ian could handle hearing, but decided he had nothing to lose. If Ian kicked him out, he at least had free drinks all night and an excuse to leave and hit the bar before it got too late.

“When my sister was 16 years old, I was at her high school dealing dope. I had a shit load of pretty much anything you might want in the bag I was carrying, when one of the campus cops saw me. He came at me, yelling. I looked at Mandy and told her to take my bag and get out of there. She was still young enough that if they busted her, it was just gonna be a stint at Juvie. But if they busted me, I’d do fucking serious time for the shit I was carrying.”

Ian took a long drink of his beer and listened. While Mickey’s story should have shocked him, it was reminiscent of his own life, before he’d moved to New York.

“So, Mandy grabs my bag and tucks it under her notebooks, then walks away acting like she was with these chicks who just happened to be walking past… and I took off running. They busted me, but all I had on me was a joint in my back pocket. Had to do some community service, but that’s better than prison, right? Anyways, Mandy’s been holding that shit over my head for the past ten fucking years, calling in stupid favors whenever she wants. She kept saying I would have gotten ten years in the can for sure if I’d been busted, so I owed her that much. And, well, here we are, ten years later. Yesterday she asked me to come to this stupid shit. I tried to argue, but she promised if I came, it would be the last fucking payback I'd have to do.” 

Mickey noticed the disapproving scowl Ian was giving him – probably for calling his event ‘stupid shit.’ He corrected himself, “I mean, I had to come to your nice…” he glanced at the banner hanging above the wall near the DJ, “ _Five Minutes To Forever_ event. Is that better, princess?” 

Ian nodded. “Wow – a drug dealer, huh?”

“EX-Drug dealer. I left that shit behind a long time ago. After watching my old man and my brothers end up in and out of prison, believe me, I’m a new man. I value my fucking freedom.”

“So, explain the bet then – She got you here because you owed her a favor, but how did the bet come about? And what do you get if you win?” 

“I was bitching about coming to this shi… _shindig_ in the cab, so she called me a fucking chicken. Said she could get more matches than I could. That bitch’s never beat me at anything in her life. I’m not about to let her think she could win at this… so… here I am, Prince Fucking Charming, at your service.”

“Charming, huh?” Ian mocked.

“Shut the fuck up. Would you rather I went out there and mingled with all your over stimulated, hopeful lady clients and poured this fuckin’ charm on them? I can do that if you want.” He moved as if to stand, but Ian reached out and pushed his shoulder down so he was back in his seat.

“No, it’s probably better if you didn’t go pouring your _charm_ all over the room right now. I’m not even sure you should do the round robin.” He half joked.

“Fuck you. Just watch, I’m gonna win this bet, and in a few days, you’ll be calling Mandy’s friend at work with all the matches I got for him. Don't forget to tell him what a fucking Casanova I was tonight.”

They both laughed. All the earlier tension was finally gone and an easy flow of conversation had bloomed between them. 

“Who came up with the stupid fucking name for this event anyway?” Mickey asked as he pointed at the banner. “Five Minutes To Forever? Was that your corny idea?” 

“It’s our address.” Ian replied as if it should be obvious.

“What? What the fuck does your address have to do with anything?” Mickey asked.

“Five Two Four Evers Street. It’s our address – _Five_ minutes _Two_ _Four_ - _Evers..._ Street.” He explained.

Mickey considered it for a minute. “Oh shit, it is! That’s fucking… weird. A little brilliant, but weird too.”

“Yeah… I mean, no – not weird. It's like a jingle - easy for people to remember. Our concept is that we give everyone a cocktail hour before the speed dating to get a little liquid courage into them, let them start writing down a few of the potential matches while they get to know each other. Then, instead of the typical 10 or 15 minutes you’d spend with a partner at other events, we move it along a little faster – Five minutes. By the time we start the round robin, most of the people in here will already have collected several names they’d like to match with. So, see… you’re kind of sabotaging your plan to win by sitting over here being anti-social.”

Mickey eyed Ian as he had been explaining the way it all worked. He really took Ian in this time – watching the way his bowed pink lips moved when he talked, with a tiny smile ever present… taking in his athletic build, those green, heavy lidded eyes with the thick red lashes lining them, and the freckles that seemed to splash across every visible part of his body. He couldn't help but wonder if Ian was freckled under his clothes as well. 

“Maybe I wanted to sabotage myself. Ever think about that?” He asked, once again sending tingles through Ian with his heavy gaze, leaving him searching for something more to say.

Ian wanted to ask Mickey, _Are you purposely trying to sabotaging your chances?_ , and if the answer was Yes, Ian wanted to know why, but he couldn't seem to move those words from his brain to his mouth.

“What do you get if you win the bet?” Ian asked at last.

“Food.” Mickey smiled, then licked his lips as if there were something delicious coating them. Ian definitely felt his dick tug in his pants that time.

“Uh…” Ian cleared his throat, “Just food?”

“No, not _just_ food. Mandy's training to be a chef. I’m a fucking mess in the kitchen. If I win, she has to cook anything I want for the rest of the month. If I lose, I have to spend every fucking night listening to her bitch at me while she tries to teach me how to boil water. I've tried it - it's fucking overrated.”

“You seriously don’t cook? I love cooking! I would love to teach you a few of my favorite go-to dishes if you wanted. Anytime - I can clear my schedule pretty easily if you're interested.” Ian offered enthusiastically. The words once again spilling from his mouth before he had a chance to realize the suggestion he had intended behind them. “Oh, shit. Wait… that’s not what I … Uh… I just meant, I could show you… Shit. I’m sorry. That was extremely out of line of me. I really shouldn’t have said that.”

“Calm your tits. No harm, no foul. I’ll just pretend you didn’t say it.” But Mickey had no intention of forgetting what Ian had said. As a matter of fact, now he had several questions of his own, including _exactly what the fuck did you mean by what you just said?_ One little slip at a time was easy to miss, but Ian kept slipping, dropping little hints that made Mickey wonder exactly which way he bent.

Mickey kept his eyes on Ian. His gaze was heated and heavy and his mouth watered as he practically undressed Ian with his eyes. Button by button, inch by inch, Mickey imagined what it would be like just to touch him, all the while tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. It left Ian unexpectedly flustered. 

“So…” Mickey said.

“So…” Ian replied.

“Are we done with the Spanish Inquisition now? Do I get to stay at your special 5-2-4 event, or are you throwing my ass out?” He knew the answer already. The look Ian was giving him clearly said he didn’t want Mickey to leave.

Ian stayed quiet. All the bells and whistles in his head were screaming that regardless of Mickey 's tough guy demeanor, Ian was almost, but not quite, positive that Mickey might be gay. He wanted to ask, the question was sitting on the tip of his tongue as Mickey continued to stare him down. He only had to ask 3 little words to find out…

“Are you…” 

_gay…_

But Ian never finished asking his question. The volume of the music overhead suddenly dropped and an over enthusiastic DJ began to speak, grabbing their attention, “Aaaaall right, all you beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen! We hope you’re having a wonderful evening here tonight at the 5th Annual Five Minutes to Forever Event! Your hosts, Ian Gallagher and Shelby Denbar are making their rounds in the room – Where are you two?” 

Shelby stepped forward from the crowd and gave a friendly wave to the group. Ian stood, giving an apologetic nod to Mickey, then stepped away from the table with his hand in the air as well as he waved to the crowded room.

“Here I am!” He called out enthusiastically, jogging slowly to the stage. 

The crowd gave a delighted ovation as he and Shelby made their way to the microphone. Ian held her hand as she ascended the steps in her high heels, then joined her on stage.

“We are so excited to see so many beautiful faces here tonight! It’s always so thrilling for Ian and I to throw this event each …” Ian stopped listening to Shelby when he noticed Mickey getting up from the table at the back of the room to leave. Mickey took the bottle of whiskey and headed for the front door.

Ian knew he was expected to say a few words to everyone as well, but his entire train of thought was focused on the man who was leaving. Shelby was right in the middle of introducing her “amazing business partner the brilliant Match Master himself...” when Ian leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Be back in a minute.”

He didn’t notice the confused look she gave him as he ignored the mic she was already holding out for him. He didn’t hear her apologize to the crowd on his behalf, making up some excuse as to why he’d just run off stage. He made his way through the crowd quickly, mumbling his _excuse me’s_ and _sorry, coming through’s_ until he was nearly running through the front door, where he ran right smack into Mickey.

“What the fuck!” Mickey exclaimed as he was shoved off balance, falling toward the steps in front of him. He grabbed the railing to steady himself, then turned on a dime. He was ready to slam the bottle of booze into someone’s head, but abruptly stopped his attack when he saw Ian sitting on the floor where he’d fallen after their collision.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mickey yelled at him. A few people standing just inside the glass doors had their eyes on them. Mickey shook his head and paced a few steps while Ian got to his feet. “Are you fucking trying to kill me?”

“I… uh… I thought you,” Ian mumbled as he dusted his suit off.

“What? D’you think I stole your fucking bottle of booze? Is that your fucking problem?” He shoved the bottle into Ian’s stomach, flipping him off when Ian took hold of it.

“No! I just … I thought you _left_.” Ian confessed. 

He stared at Mickey like a deer in headlights, not sure if he should move or speak or run and hide. Mickey did a half turn to face him.

“Why the fuck do you care if I leave or not?” Mickey’s anger made it come out louder than he had intended. Truth was, he was genuinely curious why Ian cared at all. Ian took a step back, thinking Mickey might hit him.

“I just… It’s just…” What was it about this guy that made Ian get so damn nervous and lose the ability to speak!

“Jesus Fucking Christ, do you ever get a whole sentence out of your fucking mouth without stuttering?”

“The round robin is about to start,” It was the only excuse Ian could come up with quickly. “There’s supposed to be the same number of men and women, and I thought you left.” He hoped it was enough to explain why he’d came barreling after Mickey like a run away freight train.

Mickey looked at Ian, shaking his head in wonder at the red-head’s stupidity. He didn’t know what to make of this guy – one minute he was all cool, calm, and collected, then the next he was a fumbling disaster in a thousand different ways. 

“You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?” Mickey said. Ian nodded. He knew how ridiculous every encounter with Mickey had been since he slammed the door in his head, and yet he couldn't seem to stop making a complete fool of himself every time they came face to face.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll … I’m gonna go back inside. I’m sorry, again… shit, I know you said to stop apologizing... sorry.” Ian was absolutely horrified with his own behavior, and sure he was losing his mind.

He disappeared through the doors a second later, carrying the bottle of whiskey Mickey had pushed at him, bumping himself and the bottle into the door a little as he went. Mickey went to the doors a few seconds later and watched as Ian walk into the crowd.

Ian ran his fingers through his hair nervously, ignoring the handful of people who offered their hello’s. He handed off the bottle of whiskey mindlessly to some random man and made his way to the back of the room.

“Ian! Hey, wait a minute. What the hell is going on with you today?” Shelby grabbed his arm by his suit jacket just as he was about to run off to hide from everyone. “Where the hell did you disappear to? God, are you actually sick? Oh man, I should have just let you take the night off.”

“Sorry I ran off like that,” he started to apologize and realized Mickey was right – he was constantly apologizing. “No, wait. You know what, Shelby,” He asserted himself, pulling his head together and shaking off the anxiety he had been feeling, “I’m not sick. I had something to take care of… and I knew you could handle it, ok?”

Shelby tipped her head and gave him that look – the one she gave any time Ian stepped up to acting like the “boss,” taking her by surprise. Even though they were equal partners in the business, Ian had always been the one with the soft hand and she was the hard business partner. He was there to smooth things over when shit hit the fan with an angry client, and she was there to lay the law down when necessary. It wasn’t often that those tables turned and Ian took the lead, as he seemed to be doing now.

“Ok. I get it. You doing ok though? I’ve hardly seen you all evening – what’s going on with you?” She reached out to comfort him as he shook his head. He wasn’t even sure himself what the issue was – not really.

“I’ve been doing this job for what – almost six years now? _Six_ years, Shelby. And I get better and better at it every year. I match up couples every year at this event who send us wedding invitations and baby announcements. Hell, I even introduced you to your husband three years ago! So, tell me – why the hell is it so damn impossible for me to find _my_ perfect match?” He dropped his head in disappointment. 

“They aren’t here tonight, that’s for damn sure.” He added quietly. “And they weren’t at the LGTBQ event we did last month either. And they won’t be at any of the events we do in the future – so tell me, what the fuck is wrong with _me?”_

“Ian – Come on. Don’t say that. You know as well as anyone, that Mr. Right could be standing in front of you right now. Sometimes you just need to have the right person push you in that direction… it’ll happen. I know it will.” She pulled him in for a hug, patting his back.

“Listen, go take a break. We have plenty of help here tonight. Go get some fresh air. Hell, go home if you need to, and we’ll start fresh again tomorrow, ok? Just… don’t lose hope, Ian. You’re an amazing matchmaker, but you have to believe that all of this is possible for you too, if you plan on making other people believe it as well.”

“Ok. I’m gonna just get some air.” He checked his watch. “Round robin starts in a few minutes. I’ll be back in to help with that.” He assured her.

Ian headed for the balcony, taking a deep breath of the cold night air as he opened the door. Shelby’s words rang through his head, over and over – _you have to believe this is possible for you too…_ the only problem was, he didn’t believe it. He walked the length of the balcony, turning the corner of the building to get out of the wind, and for the 4rd time of the evening, he came face to face with Mickey.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Ian grumbled, running a hand down his face.

“Excuse me?” Mickey asked angrily as he noticed Ian coming around the corner. He let out an annoyed sigh. This joker just wouldn’t go the fuck away, he thought, flicking the ashes from his cigarette, “Listen asshole, I was out here first. I mean, you might own the damn building, but right now, at this fucking minute, I own this spot, so just get the fuck out of here.”

Ian crossed his arms in front of him warding off the cold, but he didn’t turn to leave. The frustration he’d been feeling all evening finally began to bubble over; and similarly, he also felt that Mickey had been irritating the hell out of him all night long.

“Wait a fucking minute.” He said, throwing all professionalism and diplomacy out the window. “Are we actually back to this again? I thought we buried that fucking hatchet when I brought you some free drinks? So, tell me - what the fuck is your problem with me?” His voice was low and dangerous as he stepped toward Mickey. Mickey threw his cigarette over the rail and squared his shoulders. He turned toward Ian, challenging him to come closer, if he dared.

Ian continued to approach, pointing his finger accusingly at Mickey, “You know something – _you're_ the problem here. Every time I turn around you’re fucking right there, bitching about me bothering you, and I haven’t done a damn thing to you.'

He leaned in closer still, 'Do you actually fucking think I’m _trying_ to piss you off? Do you think your ass is that great that I’d follow you all over the fucking place just to check you out or something? Fuck you! I was right earlier when I said you’re nothing but an asshole. So, why don’t you just stay the fuck out here and freeze. I’m going back inside.”

He turned and left as quickly as he had arrived. Mickey was left standing there in the cold. His fists and jaw clenched tight, and he was pissed the fuck off… but a single thought kept running through his head: _He thinks I have a great ass?_

Mickey couldn’t help himself. He smiled as Ian threw the doors open and disappeared inside again. The music from the room died down once more, and Mickey heard the call of a cow bell begin to ring, announcing the start of the round robin portion of the night. He headed in, finding Mandy already sitting at one of the long narrow table. He went to sit next to her, but she slapped his thigh when he tried to take a seat.

“No, not you! Go away.” She said.

“The fuck do you mean, ‘not me?’ Why can’t I sit here?” Mickey protested.

“Because, asshole – men stand over there until we start. You would know this if you had read the match form them gave us when we came in.” She pointed around the perimeter of the room where all the men were gathered. Mickey reached into his jacket and pulled out his blank match form. Hers already had at least a half dozen names written on it.

“What the hell were you doing all night, anyway? I’ve barely seen you twice since we got here! You know what, never mind – just go, stand over there.” She said.

Mickey left and slipped in among the other men. His eyes wandered the room until they fell once more on that hot-headed red devil, who apparently thought Mickey had a great ass. 

Ian was heading up onto the stage, a forced fake smile on his face as he took the mic and introduced himself to the crowd. His demeanor slowly began to warm up as he spoke, a genuine smile returning to his face. He panned the room talking to the crowd, until he came eye to eye with Mickey once more. Ian continued to talk in a cheerful tone, but the look on his face grew cold again as he and Mickey glared across the room at one another. Neither of them took note of the nearby onlookers who were glancing over to see who Ian was staring at so oddly.

“… every five minutes you’ll hear this bell (the bell rang out) and the gentlemen will stand and rotate two seats to the right, or if you’re at the end of a table, you’ll move to the next table on your right. Ok! That’s it! Let’s get this party started!” Ian said with as much fake enthusiasm as he could muster.

The music changed to quiet jazzy tunes to accommodate the round robin portion of the night, and the first bell rang, signaling the start. The men around Mickey began taking seats at different tables, leaving him behind to stand at the wall alone for a few seconds. Finally, he spied the one open seat left in the room and went to sit down. 

The woman sitting directly across from him looked too bubbly and excited - two things Mickey tried his best to stay away from. She had dark purple hair and her makeup was done just perfectly to match. If she were Mickey’s type, he would have had his eyes glued to her extremely low cut sweater which showed off her ample bosom… but she wasn’t Mickey’s type. His eyes barely glanced her direction at all before he began looking over her shoulder, back at the red-head who was making his way around the room like a perfect host. 

Mickey noticed how every now and then Ian would stop and say hello to a new couple who had a question, or he’d chuckle at a question or answer he had overheard. Ian made his way down each row of tables, slowly coming closer and closer to Mickey and his Purple Partner. Mickey cleared his throat and finally looked at his female counterpart, who was eyeing him suspiciously.

“What?” He barked out.

“Uh… Nothing. I said hello like five times, but I didn’t think you heard me. I was starting to wonder if you were deaf.” 

He raised his brows in a _fuck you_ gesture and she quickly corrected, “I mean, like _really_ deaf, you know? I didn’t mean any offense, I just… you didn’t answer, so I wasn’t sure. Can we maybe just start again?” 

She smiled sweetly at him, giving her best effort to have a successful conversation with the handsome man sitting opposite her.

Mickey leaned back in his chair, bit his lip and sighed, “Sure. Let’s fucking start again. I’m Mickey. Aaand, you have purple fucking hair.” He said bluntly.

“I do!” She exclaimed. She held her hand out, “I’m Jessi – actually, it’s Jessica, but I go by Jessi.” She pointed at her name tag, “See, I spell it with an ‘i’ at the end. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you… finally. I was going to talk to you earlier during cocktail hour, but…”

Mickey watched as Ian approached his table, tuning out most of what Jessi with an ‘i’ was saying until he heard, “Do you like it? It’s actually blond underneath, but I use this wash out dye to switch it up every few weeks, just for a little fun! What d’ya think?”

Mickey finally looked back at her and said, “I’m finding I’m pretty partial to red heads.”

From the corner of his eye, Mickey noticed Ian slow down, tipping his ear in Mickey’s direction.

“Oh. Uh… well, I guess maybe if we get a chance to go out again, I can definitely try red. I wore a great cherry red in it for Christmas, but just a few fun streaks, you know? Otherwise it might be too …” 

“No, not cherry red. I like a fucking real red head, you know. Like bright, fiery, coppery red.” He waved his hands at her and winced, “Not this... bullshit.”

Jessi with an “i” was speechless, and Mickey was grateful for it, because she hadn’t shut the fuck up since they’d started talking.

“I’m sorry… you know, I think I’m going to run to the restroom. Excuse me.” She said, gathering her things and pushing her chair out with loud screech on the floor, getting the attention of everyone around them. “Asshole.” She muttered as she walked away.

Ian watched her leave, knowing he should follow to make sure she was ok, but before she had gone far, Shelby had caught up with Jessi with an “i” to check on her. Ian walked over to the newly vacated seat across from Mickey and sat down. Mickey rolled his eyes, a bored look on his face.

“Is there a problem here?” Ian asked quietly, trying to keep the conversation private so that the couples around them could continue to talk.

“Why the fuck would there be a problem, Red? Apparently, she had to piss.” He offered Ian little more than a brief raise of his brows before he looked away and ignored him completely. Ian was getting heated, but he’d seen mismatches in couples much worse than that before, so there wasn’t really anything he could do at the moment.

“Don’t fucking call me Red.” Ian said quietly as he stood to leave. 

“Got it, Firecrotch.” Mickey said loudly, stopping Ian in his tracks for a few short seconds, then he walked away. Ian straightened his jacket, tugging at the buttons and composing himself. Then he smiled at a nearby couple who had overheard Mickey’s comment.

“I’m so sorry about that. Please, enjoy your evening.” He said as he walked away.

The bell rang and every man stood to move. Mickey walked over to the table Mandy was sitting at. Just as the last man went to take his seat in front of one of the women, Mickey pulled his arm and said, “You’re over there now. I got moved.”

The man looked confused, but followed Mickey’s direction and left the table. Mickey sat down in the seat just to the left of Mandy 's new partner, once again facing some unknown match up he had no interest in. Mandy gave him an evil eye, but he simply rolled his eyes at her and pierced his lips at the idea of doing this for another fucking hour. The bell rang once more and introductions began around the table. 

Mickey made the first move, “Hey, I’m Mickey.” He offered his hand, giving himself a mental pat on the back for getting it right this time.

“Amy, nice to meet you. So, is this your first Speed Dating? I’m kinda nervous, you know?”

Mickey eyed Ian once again, walking toward his table. This time he was sure Ian was doing it on purpose, probably to keep a close eye and ear on whatever Mickey had to say.

“Yeah, first time. My bitch sister said I needed to open myself up to new experiences and try something new, so here I am.”

His words caught Amy off guard and made Mandy turn her attention to him immediately, “Fuck you, Mickey! I never fucking said that! You’re just too chicken shit to get out and have any fun, bitch!” 

Both the man opposite Mandy and Amy did a double take at the siblings, their mouths hanging open at the outburst that just took place. “Uhm… you’re his sister?” The man asked.

“Yes. Ignore him. He’s an asshole.” Mandy replied. She gave her partner an instant smile and tried to give their 5 minute meet and greet a second chance.

Amy wasn’t quite as quick to recover. She gathered her purse in her hands nervously and looked around for one of the hosts.

“So, what? You just gonna take off now?” Mickey asked.

“Well, I thought maybe you weren’t, you know… into this, so I was just going to sit this one out… maybe.” She replied nervously. Mandy rolled her eyes at the exchange she was overhearing, which only seemed to spur Mickey along.

“Ah, you wanna know what I’m into? Ok. We can do that.” Mickey leaned forward on his elbows and looked Amy straight in the eyes, making her back up just a little. “I’m into renovating. I renovate homes – you know, historic homes and shit. Which, if you think about, is kind of funny, because back in Chicago I used to spend all my time looking for the rich assholes who owned those houses so I could rob them. Now they give me fucking keys and invite me in.” He cackled at the thought of it.

Ian was just a few seats away from him now, and definitely doing his best to hear what Mickey was saying. The look on Mickey’s partner’s face implied the conversation wasn’t a going the way she had hoped, but the laughter coming from Mickey made Ian curious what they were talking about. He stepped closer, bringing himself to stand right behind Mickey.

“I’m also into guns. I only own one now, because she,” he pointed at Mandy, “said I had to get rid of the rest of them because they had blood on them.” 

Amy gasped.

“Not literal fucking blood. Anyway, I had to fucking leave all my AKs and some of my favorite handguns behind. And you know what, my fucking brothers probably sold them for drugs, because they’re assholes, too.”

Amy’s eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open as she quickly fumbled to get out of her chair.

“Aw, come one! You said you wanted to talk about things I was into!” Mickey said. A strong hand came down on his shoulder, and Mickey automatically spun in his chair, hitting Ian’s hand away from him as he stood. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He growled.

“Can I talk to you a minute?” Ian insisted. He began to walk away. Mandy stood up, excusing herself from her partner, and reached across the table to hit Mickey square in the back.

“Follow me... Now!” she threatened quietly.

They both walked in the direction Ian had gone and found him waiting by the doors that led to the caterer's kitchen. Ian looked back at the table they had just come from where several couples were now watching the three of them. He gave them all a warm, reassuring smile to ease their concerns, then found Shelby in the crowd and gave her the same smile.

 _I got this… don’t worry… please, enjoy the evening,_ his smile said.

Both Ian and Mandy blurted out the same thing at Mickey, “What the _fuck_ are you doing?!” Ian and Mandy looked at each other. Given the situation, it was inappropriate to laugh, but they both smirked at each other knowing they wanted to laugh.

“What? She asked me what I was into? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing here? Opening ourselves up like little fucking flowers so we can find our fucking soulmates, or some shit like that?” Mickey said in a mocking tone.

He knocked his thumb across his lip, visibly frustrated with the entire night – particularly the annoying red headed matchmaker that seemed to be stalking his every move. “I need a fucking drink.”

He started to walk away when Mandy grabbed his arm and spun him back around, “I will rip your fucking balls off if you fuck this up for me, Mickey! I paid a goddamn fortune for these tickets… and you fucking owe me.”

The bell rang through the room and all the men stood to move around the tables. Ian was at a loss for words – he knew kicking Mickey out meant Mandy would have to leave as well and he didn’t want to ruin her night, but the other option of letting Mickey stay seemed a whole lot worse.

“Listen, Mandy… go… take a seat, enjoy your evening ( _enjoy your fucking evening_ ).” Ian and Mickey spoke the last part in unison. 

“Jesus Christ, do you ever stop saying that?” Mickey asked. “All right, fuck… Mandy, go. I’m getting a drink.”

She went and took her seat, her eyes darting from her brother to the new man sitting in front of her as she tried to get back into the groove of things.

Mickey reached the bar and ordered a double whiskey. “Single.” Ian corrected, “Just give him a single, on me.”

“Just… go the fuck away, and let me drink. I’ll stay out of your little round robin bullshit.” Another bell rang and strangers all around began to talk and laugh with each other. Ian discretely pointed out one empty seat, with the woman across from it looking nervously back at them.

“Here’s the problem Mickey. See that lady over there? Like your sister, she put in a lot of effort to be here tonight, and was hoping to talk to, if not eventually match up with, a really great guy tonight. But instead, she’s sitting over there alone. She’s not worried about the empty seat in front of her. She’s worried that the _asshole_ who is currently standing in front of me might go back over there and try to talk to her.”

“Fuck off.” Mickey took the shot from the bartender and tossed it back.

“So, now I have to go over there, apologize to her, make small talk, and pretend you’re just having an off moment. Then I have to convince her that you’re NOT actually an asshole… In other words, I have to lie to her.” Mickey flipped him off.

“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to go over there and apologize, then on the next round, I’m going to make a decision. Either you and your sister leave together, so we have an even pairing of men and women again, or I can move you to a new table, and we can try _one fucking more time._ Your decision. But I’m leaving it up to you to break the news to Mandy if you decide to go. Otherwise, I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes to find you a new seat, got it?”

Ian didn’t wait for an answer. He did what he said he was going to do – he went and made small talk with the woman sitting alone. He made her laugh. He made her blush. He pointed over at Mickey, as if he was saying nice things about him and made excuses for him, then Ian winked at him for effect. The woman gave Mickey a friendly wave and smile as well. Ian did what Ian did best… he smoothed over a messy situation.

After a few minutes, Ian reached out to take the woman’s hand in his own, and kissed it graciously before walking away from the table. He approached the bar again, earning a sideways glance from Mickey as he approached. The bell rang again. 

“So. Staying or going?” He asked Mickey.

Mickey looked at his sister who had already forgotten his outburst, and was laughing happily as her exiting partner took her hand in his and kissed it. Fucking Mandy. 

“Fuck it. Fine, let’s do this.” Mickey said.

“Good. Let’s try that table over there… and Mickey, please – for the sake of every person at this table… just _try.”_

Ian took care of the details, sending one of the unsuspecting men from the new table to Mickey’s old seat. Mickey pulled up his chair and waited for Ian to leave. The bell rang again.

“Hi, I’m Melissa. You’re Michael.” She said, reading his name tag. “M & M, how cute is that!”

“Fucking hell…” was all he could muster.

“Excuse me?” She asked, sure she must have misunderstood him.

“Nothing. Yeah, I’m Mickey, actually. Not Michael.” He held his hand out to shake hers.

For the first three minutes, things almost seemed normal, at least from where Ian was standing. He couldn’t hear what Mickey and Melissa were saying, but he could see the back and forth conversation, and he began to relax a little… until …

 _“What did you just say to me??”_ Melissa asked loudly. Ian immediately began to walk toward them.

“I asked you if you liked butt sex? You know, taking it up the ass? That’s a normal question isn’t it? I mean, if we hit it off, I think that’s something we should know about each other, because butt sex isn’t such a bad…”

Melissa was out of her chair and rushing off before he could finish, making Mickey chuckle at what he thought was an entertaining conversation. 

“Mickey! Can I speak to you please?” Ian was standing behind Melissa’s vacant chair and he didn’t look happy. 

Mickey started laughing, a genuine hearty smile on his face as he tried to contain himself. 

“Christ, Ian… it was a fair question, don’t you think? I thought everyone liked butt sex… Don’t you?” His eyes met Ian’s and held them, unblinking, unwavering, challenging him to answer. “What’sa matter, Red … cat got your tongue?”

The bell rang. Ian ran his hands through his hair and let out a frustrated huff of air. “Can I talk to you? Now. Please.” He asked as calmly as he could as everyone began to change seats again. Mickey stood up, still chuckling quietly, and followed Ian back toward the catering kitchen. He caught a glance of Mandy glaring at him as they went.

Ian didn’t stop outside the kitchen doors this time. He pushed them open, hitting the doors against the wall and alarming the staff who were in the room.

“Out! I need everyone out… please. This will just take a minute.” He walked the length of the room, waiting for everyone to clear out, then turned and paced a few steps back toward Mickey, gathering every ounce of patience he could. 

_Mickey. He was so fucking infuriating!_ Ian thought. Mickey, with his smug ass, shit eating grin plastered on his fucking… …… …… beautiful fucking face… The last person finally left the room and Ian's patience failed him.

“ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY!?” Ian yelled. The staff, who were still just outside the door, glanced nervously at each other then headed farther away from the door toward the bar. The guests in the room all glanced in that direction when they heard Ian yell. Then the bell rang and everyone went back to their scheduled event. 

“I’m serious, Mickey, because… I just don’t get it! What the fuck are you trying to do out there?” Mickey chuckled again, highly entertained at seeing Ian all riled up. 

“Your whole face gets all fucking red when you’re mad.” He replied.

“Oh my god. You _are_ crazy, aren’t you?” Ian looked at him curiously. He didn’t know if he should call security or ask Mickey to leave and hope he wouldn’t create a scene.

“I’m not fucking nuts, asshole.” Mickey said, taking a few steps toward Ian. He eyed Ian slowly, once again making his interest in Ian glaringly obvious. “I just… don’t have any interest in the women out there. And apparently you’ve been too fucking pissed off tonight to notice what I am interested in.”

“Wha- wait… what?” Ian stuttered. Mickey was still coming closer. He unbuttoned his jacket, keeping his eyes on Ian’s body, licking his lips as he walked.

“Come the fuck on, Firecrotch. Are we really gonna play it that way?” He stopped walking, and waited for Ian to answer. When he didn't, Mickey acted as if he were about to turn around.

“Uh, n-no… I mean, I just… I’m sorry, but ... what are you saying? I just, you know… I’m really confused right now,” All the anger Ian had just moments before had dissipated. He was genuinely confused and incredibly curious to understand what Mickey was trying to tell him. “Are you… _hitting_ on me?”

“No, asshole.'

The look on Ian's face made Mickey want to crack up. He truly was completely stumped, and looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock for even suggesting such a thing. Mickey decided to finally stop fucking with him, 'Ok… maybe I was. A little.” 

***

The two men had been in the kitchen long enough for another changing of the chairs. Shelby left whatever the issue was with the brunette guest to Ian to handle, keeping her attention out on the floor with their other guests. The caterer and her staff were taking a much needed break at the bar, waiting for the all clear to go back to work.

Suddenly, the low jazzy music and white noise of chatter of the room was interrupted by the sound of crashing metal coming from the kitchen. The entire room turned their heads. A few more sharp crashes erupted from the kitchen, as pans and utensils were being pushed from the counter tops. The catering manager and her staff went running toward the kitchen. The manager pushed one of the swinging doors open, then covered her eyes with her hands in shock. The rest of her team dropped their mouths open.

She quickly pulled the door closed and stood with her back to it, opening her arms wide to cut off anyone who might try to go into the kitchen. “Oh my god! Oh my… “

Mandy was out of her seat immediately, heading in their direction, thinking that her brother was probably murdering Ian. Perhaps the caterer had witnessed Mickey hatching him up into tiny pieces with a dull kitchen knife, which definitely wouldn't surprise her.

Shelby also came rushing from the other end of the room. Guests began to stand from their seats as the cacophony from the kitchen continued. Everyone who came near the doors was immediately stopped by the wide eyed catering manager shaking her head and blocking the doors.

“No! Don’t go in there!” she exclaimed.

Within seconds, it became blatantly obvious why no one should go in there.

“Fuck! Right there! Come on, bitch, give me that dick!” Mickey’s voice came through the doors loud and clear.

A collective “Oh” came from the crowd that had gathered. Dozens of people stood around, grinning, giggling, listening to the two men go at it in the kitchen. Shelby was doing her best now to break up the crowd. A few newly paired couples were grabbing their jackets, calling it a night, and heading for the exit, “Great time, Shelby! Thanks!” “We’re leaving now!” And the biggest nightmare were the people from the press that Shelby had invited, all standing nearby as witness.

The sounds of heated sex kept coming, both men completely oblivious to the amount of noise they were making that could be heard by everyone in the next room. After all the tension and frustration they had between them all evening, neither of them were in a state of mind to even care anymore. 

Mandy leaned against the bar and shook her head as she listened to the show.

“That’s your, uh… brother, right?” She looked up to see the man, Jack, who had been sitting with her earlier – the one who had gently kissed her hand. She gave him an embarrassed smile and nodded.

“Yep. I’m gonna miss him when I’m in prison for murdering his ass.”

“Oh, come on. Isn’t that the entire point of this night? Finding the right guy?” They both smirked and looked back at the kitchen doors once more where Shelby had managed to get most of the remaining people back to their tables. 

Shelby pointed at the DJ, desperately signaling him to play something and turn the volume up. Finding this the perfect opportunity to show what a comedian he was, the DJ began to play Nelly – It’s Getting Hot In Here - making everyone in the room laugh and cheer. The room erupted with everyone singing and dancing in celebration of the hook up taking place in the kitchen less than 50 feet away. Shelby’s head dropped as she silently cursed every cell of Ian’s being and vowed to kill him.  
  
 _Oh! Wanna little bit o’ (ah ah!)  
And a little bit o’ (ah ah!)_

“So. You think maybe you want to get out of here – we could go get some food… or something?” Jack asked Mandy.

That was probably the most perfect thing he could have asked her right then. She smiled warmly at her knight in shining armor who was about to save her from the most embarrassing night of her life.

“… Or something.” She answered. “Let me grab my jacket.”

By the time Mandy had her coat in hand and was finally walking back to meet Jack at the exit, Ian and Mickey were once again emerging from the kitchen. Ian ran his hand through his sweaty hair which was sticking up in every direction. He pressed a loose corner of his shirt back into his slacks. His jacket and tie were missing altogether. 

Mickey came out behind him, looking a little more put together, with his jacket and tie still in place. He had Ian's jacket hanging over his arm and Ian's baby blue tie draped over his shoulders. Mickey zipped up his slacks, a happy little grin playing on his face. One of the press reporters, called out, 'Excuse me, gentlemen...' capturing a very candid photo of the two of them grinning for his morning review. Ian wasn’t even fazed.

He pulled his tie from Mickey's shoulders, then took his jacket, giving him a wink, before finally looking around the room and realizing that everyone was dancing and the round robin had come to an end. The whole room erupted in cheers and applause as the two men stood there together, making their first post coital appearance, stopping them both in their tracks.   
  
_It’s gettin’ hot in here_  
 _So hot_  
 _So take off all your clothes_  
 _I am getting so hot…_

Mandy walked up to Mickey and punched him in the arm. “I’m leaving, asshole. And I fucking won.” She looked at Ian with dagger eyes, daring him to say a single word to her, “NO, you do not get a free dinner!”

Mickey smiled at her as she walked away and called out loudly, “Bitch, please… I won.”


End file.
